


That One Morning

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: 3.5 Years Post-Quest, Gen, Introspection, Sad Bilbo, With an Award-Winning Title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Can you promise that I will come back?"</p><p>"No...and if you do, you will not be the same."</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The First Day Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/616959) by [durinsheir (ShadowChanger)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowChanger/pseuds/durinsheir). 



Three and a half years after the Quest, Bilbo still slept tensely, with one ear open in case one of the Dwarves said his name. But the call never came.

Whenever he heard a suspicious or unnerving noise Bilbo still felt the urge to draw his sword. But Sting was never at his belt.

Always there was the wariness at the edges of his vision, expecting to have a warg leap toward him with wide, frothing mouth. But the warg never leaped.

Bilbo woke one morning to see the sun shining through the window and the candle smoking in its place atop a pile of books. The Hobbit was instantly struck by a melancholy sense of heartache. This morning was so like _that_ morning.

The morning on which he’d raced after the Company, his Contract flapping in the wind and his pack halfway onto his shoulder.

The morning he’d been thrown a _used_ _under-cloth_ for a pocket handkerchief and everyone had laughed.

The morning that would change his life forever, though he hadn’t known it yet.

Bilbo leapt from his bed and ran toward the living room, only to stop when he remembered that it had been over three years. There would be no Dwarves waiting for him.

Rigidly Bilbo forced himself to enter the living room anyway. His eyes swept across all his possessions, and he felt the discomfort that had recurrently gnawed at him ever since he’d returned.

This house was too... _proper_. Bilbo was used curling up on the cold ground, covered in filth as he lamented about his hunger with Bombur and felt ill when he breathed in too much Dwarven pipe smoke. Now the air seemed too clean and clear and his stomach too full.

Bilbo released a heavy sigh and strode to the mantle. Carefully he tipped open the glass box he found there and retrieved his old Ring. Running his fingers over the smooth surface, Bilbo closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He could hear it. Fíli and Kíli’s laughter; Bofur’s lilting voice flowing in song; Dwalin’s bellowing war cry; Nori’s dry, sarcastic jokes; Bifur’s guttural grunts as he spoke in Khuzdûl; and Thorin’s last breath leaving his body.

The Hobbit put the Ring away...

For now.


End file.
